Walk Away
by reaa1210
Summary: She'd just ripped out his heart and shredded it to pieces; what is an acceptable response in that situation? How do you live without a heart? FinnRachel, very AU.


**A/N: This is so cheating. Really, this is the _epitome _of cheating. But as you can tell, I'm still doing it.**

**I wrote this story a really long time ago, as in a good year and a half ago, for characters that didn't even have names. Then, I stupidly decided to post it as a Hannah Montana story, where it made absolutely no sense. And now, probably just as idiotic, I'm posting it as a Finchel. This is really just for some feedback - I was feeling incredibly uninspired, and after opening this up again and making some much-needed tweeks, I couldn't help but bring it up again. Any thoughts you guys have on this would be much appreciated; I just wanted some relief after that incredibly fluffy one-shot I posted! And also, it's been a weird couple of days, and this just seemed to match my feelings perfectly at the moment.**

**Again, I'd really appreciate some comments on this - if you hated it, tell me (somewhat nicely, please =D ) and maybe give me some advice on how I could have made it better. Thank you muchly :)**

**Disclaimer: I own that incredibly long and pointless Author's Note, this very unoriginal title, my thirty-two year old upright piano, and a not-so-new Mazda fittingly named "Beth Ann". Glee, however, isn't quite pathetic enough to be called my own. **

* * *

**"And it's so hard to do, and so easy to say. But sometimes, sometimes you just have to walk away." - Ben Harper, "Walk Away"**

It was peaceful here.

The soothing mixture of salt water swept past her face with the light breeze, and she closed her eyes as she inhaled the strong, familiar scent. It smelled like home.

Each wave crashed the shoreline in a steady rhythm, composing a certain poetic melody. The birds gliding overhead circled and sang along with the song, and the zip of the wind through the sparse palm trees, growing fiercer as the clouds converged and the sun fell farther behind a thick veil of gray and black, made a beautiful but gradually menacing composition that effectively cleared the beach of its inhabitants… except for her.

She wasn't frightened by the eerie sky, or the deafening battle between the rocks lining the shore and the great waves; in fact, she welcomed it. It seemed like the perfect representation of her inner turmoil at the moment. Her head and her heart refused to compromise, and so they were fighting to the stake. Right now, her heart was winning out, remembering with perfect recall every moment with him, every touch, every kiss. But her head had a strong argument, reminding her of the way it felt when they fought, the many times she'd cried over him, the way it ached to see him leave her again. It was a gruesome, tiring battle.

She knew, in the end, a decision would be made, no matter how painful it might be. Would she be able to survive another blow to her heart, another open wound inflicted when he hurt her again, when he left again? But, maybe even more importantly, could she possibly, truly, _finally_ say goodbye to him. . . and mean it? Could she be the one to walk away? The sky darkened as she even considered this.

She looked up toward the growing storm, searching for a solution, willing _something_ to fix this recurring heartbreak once and for all, to silence her mind and let her heart decide for her. But she had never been very whimsical. She was far too logical, too practical to act without considering every angle completely. She had always liked this about herself, that she wasn't impulsive and immature; now she wished her nagging conscience would shut up just this once, instead of causing even more heartache.

She began to match her footsteps to the sound of the waves, letting the shuffle of the sand add to the song. Focusing on this distracted her thoughts just enough to let her heart take the lead once again, recalling every distinct shade of brown in his eyes and the golden halo that framed his glorious face. The wind whipped her long, chocolate hair across her face and she almost smiled, remembering his soft caress against her cheek.

"Rachel?"

She imagined she was invisible, that her closed eyes could somehow close off the rest of the world as well. But the sound of his voice – so warm, so soft, so…dangerous – stopped her heart, and her mind took advantage of the stutter in its beats.

It was like a fire alarm. When you hear it, your first thought is to run, but you can't seem to listen. Your eyes unconsciously search for the source and you freeze. You can't seem to escape, even when everything is telling you that danger is imminent.

Finn Hudson was her own personal fire alarm.

"Rachel." Louder this time. Stronger.

She pulled her arms tighter across herself, but made no advance that she'd heard him; she kept right on walking. If she turned and allowed just one look at him – his warm chocolate eyes, his smooth, chiseled jaw, his soft pink lips, the lower just a bit more protruded, and just a bit more delicious . . . She was suddenly distracted, wondering why she shouldn't turn around to look at this angel. It took but a second for her subconscious to shout loud enough for her to hear, but she did, and she remembered.

One moment of weakness meant an eternity of pain.

"Rachel, I know you can hear me."

How was he so close now? She resisted the urge to squeeze her hands tightly over her ears and stick out her tongue; that would be much too childish. But she wished she could be a child again – act like a child, think like a child. How easy that would be.

A small drop of water struck her cheek and she looked up angrily, glaring at the drizzling rain softly cascading from the clouds. His footsteps charged with more fervor, and her pace instinctively quickened, counting her steps to calm her racing heart.

"God damn it, Rachel! Would you just stop for a second?"

She winced at his tone, but shuffled faster along the sand. The wind was howling so viciously, slapping her face like a whip, that she was literally fighting it so that she could move, but it seemed no match for him. Of course. He ran to her side and yanked at her arm, only to meet her cold, hard glare.

"Maybe I did hear you, and I just don't give a damn," she snapped.

This brought him up short; he released her arm and took a deliberate step back, looking away from her menacing stare. She almost felt bad for her words, but she stopped herself before she could. She'd felt sorry for him before; that's what had gotten her into this mess.

His voice was much weaker when he spoke again. "Will you just talk to me?"

She stared incredulously. "_Talk _to you?" she seethed, disbelief coloring her words. "What would you like to talk about? How you came back out of nowhere, again? How you couldn't help but kiss me, again, when you know that you'll just leave, _again? _Honestly, Finn, this whole thing seems pretty fucking familiar to me!"

She couldn't hold herself back anymore. Her blazing temper had gotten her into trouble one too many times, but now she couldn't care less. She had never used this tone with him, never been so brutally honest to his face, but it felt incredible. Like a giant breathe of air after being underwater for years; like popping a hole in a balloon and letting all the pressure escape. There was no stopping her now.

"I just–"

She couldn't listen to him anymore; there was no point. She spun away, gripping her chest to keep herself together, and trudged through the sand again, knowing quite well that he would follow, but hoping he wouldn't. Her temper was known to be short-lived, and she hoped their confrontation would be just that. She wasn't sure how long she could see the defeat on his face and not crumble to pieces. The sky had completely blackened by now and the rain had picked up with the wind, falling more and more freely. A massive gust of frigid air almost knocked her to the ground, but Rachel pushed against it with all the strength she had left, determined to get away.

She could hear his pursuit behind her and, as the anger began to wear off, misery and desperation took its place. She was just so tired. So tired of yelling, so sick of fighting. She just wanted to sleep, to curl up in a tight little ball on her bed and not _care _anymore. Why was that so hard? Why did that gnaw a hole in her chest even bigger than the one already there? Why did that _hurt_?

Soon she wasn't sure if it was the rain wetting her face or her own tears. Every sound began to blend together; no longer a song, but rather a deafening cry. The crashing waves, the shuffle of her feet, of his behind her, her labored breathing, her breaking heart…. There seemed to be a volume control and someone kept turning it up and up and up … until she could hardly breathe it was so loud, suffocating her. She wished someone would turn it down.

She was vaguely aware that she was slowing, and he was gaining on her, but the growing pounding in her ears was incapacitating her. Her feet felt like dead weight, she could hardly lift them. Somehow he managed to get in front of her, and she was forced to stop. Her invisibility wish was second now to her plea for a weapon. She knew there was no way around him; she would be forced to face this, even though the war inside her body had yet to declare a winner.

_Well,_ she figured, _I'll allow myself one look at him. _But she quickly, and painfully, realized how tragic one look might be. His hair, soaked a rich bronze by the snarling storm, clung to his forehead and matted his cheeks, dripping pellets of water over his ears and down his neck. His chest rose and fell roughly underneath his drenched black shirt, which looked like silk against his shiny skin. Her eyes fell mistakenly to his hand, clutching a limp red rose in a taut fist at his side. Her ears pounded harder as she met dark, piercing orbs.

Lethargy hung over her head like the clouds above, and she couldn't manage the harsh tone she'd hoped for, couldn't get the scream jostling her chest to bubble over her lips. She stood there, worn, dejected, waiting for her eyes to close, for him to take the final blow to her dead heart.

He noticed this, saw the emptiness in her eyes, and wondered how it got there. But oh, he knew. "I don't want to hurt you, Rachel," he whispered, and though the wicked storm sounded like clashing granite, she heard him, and he knew that too.

"Just because you don't want to hurt me doesn't mean you didn't. It doesn't mean you don't every time you come back, every time you do this."

"Would you rather that I'd stayed away? That you never saw me again?"

Blood was rushing to her head and she grew dizzy. "I don't know. I think I might."

"Do you want me to leave now?"

The scream was coming quicker now, but it swept up the air from her lungs and left a raw aching in its place. Her head spun like a merry-go-round. She had never liked them. "Yes, I think I do want that." She wished the air was back; her demand was so breathless it sounded like defeat. She couldn't be defeated. He couldn't defeat her.

Boldly, Finn inched closer, or maybe the wind was pushing them together, a driving force of nature. "I don't think you do," he demanded, his voice wrongly confident. Almost like he could hear her heartbeats grow frantic at the thought of it.

She couldn't think straight; his hand was only an inch away. Despite the chill of the air, she knew it would be warm, and she longed for its touch. "You're wrong," she murmured, eyes locked on the soft skin. She imagined the way a tingle would shoot from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes if he were to graze her cheeks, her arm, her lips. She dreamed of the way her face would flush with pleasure when he swept her hair from her eyes. She longed for the fire burning in her gut from his lips on her lips, her ear, her neck. But these were just misconceptions, tricks played by her cruel heart. Her mind knew better; it was quicker, cleverer. Sinister almost. It was playing hacky sack with her heart, and it pushed words through her lips in strange, unfamiliar ways.

"I don't want this anymore."

He questioned her with perplexed eyes, like she'd spoken in some foreign language he didn't understand. "You do," he insisted, begging rather than ordering this time. How couldn't she want him? He loved her. Of course she knew that. Didn't she?

"No," she said, shaking her head sadly. She closed her eyes as she spoke. Her next words would be hard enough; she didn't need to look at those beautiful brown eyes too, knowing it'd be the last time she saw them shine.

"I don't want this. I can't take this anymore. I don't want to be miserable, waiting for you to come back, never knowing when, or if, you will. I can't stand the way my heart skips a beat when I see your face, and then the way it stops altogether when you walk away from me. _This, _right now, I can't do this anymore, Finn. I don't want it… I don't want you."

_Lies! _Her heart screamed, chastising her. _Blasphemy! _It cried. But the war was almost over. It was the final showdown, and her mind had the advantage; it controlled her voice. If she could tell him she didn't love him – that she didn't dream of his touch, that she didn't want to feel his luscious lips on hers and taste his sweet breath on her tongue; that she didn't _want _him – maybe he would listen, and maybe he would believe it. And then, only then, could she even begin to believe it herself.

This was her final hope.

Her words seemed to travel with the wind, striking his face and stealing the ground from beneath his feet. He searched her eyes for some indication, any emotion at all that would prove her dishonesty, but he found nothing. Just pure, writhing defeat. He couldn't bare it; those eyes used to be filled with care and warmth and laughter. And love, love for him. Now they just looked tired, like all her energy was focused on simply keeping them alert. He'd never hated himself more than at that moment.

A fire was burning away at her throat and sucking the oxygen from her lungs. Its smoke clouded her head and made her tongue feel like clay. All the fumes made her eyes pick and water wildly. And despite the heat of the flames, she was cold. Her lips trembled with the chill and she ground her teeth to stop the shatter. She wanted to move but her wobbly legs were like icicles. She didn't think they could hold her up. Foolishly, she tried.

His arm caught her waist before she hit the sand and she wished she'd kept falling. She wished the sand would catch her and pull her under, burying her and keeping her safe from the world… from him. She didn't know why she kept making wishes. They never came true.

Her eyes mercilessly fluttered to his face, and she wished once again that the wind had just swept her away. Rain cascaded down his face and ran through his hair, and she wondered if it was hitting her too. A single droplet fell from a piece of his bangs over his forehead, down his aristocratic nose, over his smooth, parted lips, and finally slipped over the curve of his neck and under his shirt, lost now in the glory of his chest. She wanted to follow its path with her finger but feared she wouldn't be able to stop. He was holding her so close her breaths grew heavy; she couldn't keep them in line. Shots were being fired at her mind and it couldn't retreat. It was pushing and charging but couldn't seem to shake the assault. Bullets fired all around her and she couldn't get away. Right now, she didn't want to.

Neither one spoke. Finn had nothing to say, and Rachel couldn't say what she needed. She needed him to let her go. She needed him to stop staring at her, piercing her with his eyes. She needed to walk away, to hide herself so he couldn't hurt her anymore. She needed _closure._ But she didn't know how. Wants are sometimes stronger than needs. And right now, all she wanted was him.

As he was leaning in, her mind began to thrash like the vicious waves, trying desperately to break through to her. Her heartbeats pounded like a jackhammer as he ran his hands up her arms and cupped her face in a strong hold, yet somehow extremely delicate. She _needed _him to take his hands off her, but she _wanted _him to grip her harder.

His gaze traveled down to her lips and he almost couldn't stop himself. Passionate memories surfaced in his mind and it took all his might not to completely ravish her. His thoughts were purely of kissing her. And her only thought was that she wished for a paper bag, to help her find the air she needed to breathe. She could see hunger in his eyes, passion, longing … and she knew what that meant for her; pain, tears, and heartache... Despite her own longing, that she knew. And she had to stop it.

"Please." She spoke so softly she hardly made a sound, but he heard. Her heart argued furiously at the word, and her mind simply smiled. It would win now. "Don't."

He was angry, dropping his hold on her face; she had ruined his perfect fantasy. "Why not, Rachel? Why can't you let yourself be happy?"

"That's just it, though," she disagreed, her tone gaining a bit more of the austerity he deserved. "This is just making everything worse. You can't make me happy, Finn. You _don't _make me happy."

"I can," he demanded, eyes narrowed. He roughly grasped her arms and she had only a second to protest.

"No. Listen to me." She could see that he wouldn't give up, and she wasn't sure how long she could stay in one piece. Thunder growled overhead and lighting shot a deadly bolt through the sky. The downpour was so thick it looked like a wall of ice, like the one currently being built around her heart. She needed these next words to be said, no matter how much it would hurt, no matter how terrible the lie. It was the only chance she had to make him understand.

"I don't love you anymore."

The rain stopped falling around him and his breaths grew shallow. A current shot through her body and shocked his hands, throwing them limply to his sides. The words swirled around him like a whirlwind, all jumbled and disjointed. He couldn't understand what they meant.

Pretty pictures were playing behind her lids and she wanted to smile at their colors; red and pink and yellow – the happiest colors she could imagine. They swarmed and danced around her head so gracefully she thought she might be flying, and for an instant, she felt well. Whole. _Happy. _But she knew the moment her eyes opened she would never feel that way again. It would be black and gray and blue and, worst of all, brown. She dreaded the brown. It would sweep away all the pretty colors and haunt her mind forever.

He swallowed hard before he spoke, hoping to remove the lump from his throat and stop the tremble of his lips. He failed. "R-Rach, you didn't mean that."

He reached for her hand but she stepped back, nearly collapsing to the ground. "I did." She fared goodbye to the kaleidoscope of colors, thanking them and willing them to meet again, before looking into the only color she would ever see. Empty, just like she imagined. Yes, the brown she dreaded. She gulped once and her heart raised its white flag. "I do." It swung from side to side, surrendering.

The storm could have ceased or turned into a hurricane and neither would have noticed. For an immeasurable moment they stared into each other's eyes – both dead, both cold – and relayed the words they could never speak: _I'm sorry, I love you, I'll miss you…_ They shared their favorite moments, their best memories together: _their first date, their first kiss, their first time…_ Their hearts swelled and thumped one last time, absorbing every memory and then locking it far, far away; so when they lay awake at night, when sleep just wouldn't come, they would remember, and they could be happy.

The war was over now; her mind was basking in its victory and her heart had been taken prisoner, caged now in a block of ice that she didn't think would ever thaw. But it was over. She knew she should be feeling something – loss, regret, relief – but instead she just felt cold, numb. A calm pervaded her body and it took all she had not to let her heavy lids close. She felt detached, as if she were watching the horrid scene from the clouds above, instead of experiencing its wrath firsthand.

She watched his lips open and close, quiver and frown, trying to protest but finding no words to do so. What was there to say? She'd just ripped out his heart and shredded it to pieces; what is an acceptable response in that situation? How do you live without a heart?

He found his answer in her eyes. Standing there, searching that beautiful brown, he knew he had to let go. The pain that stared back at him shouldn't be there. Those tears keeping her smile away shouldn't exist. How could he be the one to do this to her? That was the more important question. He'd wrecked the only good relationship he'd ever known. He'd shattered such an incredible, amazing woman over his own selfishness. He'd broken her heart, _his _heart. There was only one way to make it right.

"Okay." She hardly heard the sound, though his conviction rang loud and clear. Maybe because she wasn't expecting it. Maybe because it's not what she wanted to hear. "I'll leave."

A million questions flipped through her mind but she couldn't find the courage to ask them. All she could focus on were his eyes, staring right back into hers. They were so honest, so sure of his words. She could find absolutely no deceit there, and part of her hoped she would. Of course, she wanted him to leave, since that would be best, but how could he actually do it? Why wasn't he fighting for her? Why was he letting her go?

And then, as if nothing had ever happened, Finn reached for her hand, holding it tightly in his, and, to her sheer disbelief, he _smiled. _A calm, warm, loving smile, one she hadn't seen in so long she was sure it didn't even exist. His thumb traced patterns on her skin and ignited sparks she never knew would light. His touch crept under her skin and deep into her bones, erupting frenzy in her core that felt like fluttering wings.

Just when she thought the battle had ended, her heart stuttered to a start and thumped louder than she'd ever thought possible. She wasn't sure what to do. He'd just set her free, given her the words she needed to hear, yet every inch of her body tingled with his touch and every fragment of her being longed for more. She could even feel her lips curving into an answering smile. This wasn't supposed to be happening.

She wasn't sure when, but it seemed the storm had lost its ferocity and settled into a nice calm. She could still hear the waves hitting the sand, but the menace of before had long vanished. It was peaceful again. And, just as serene, Finn smiled once more and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, before pulling away and taking a small step back. She didn't know what she wanted, but now she knew – she didn't want him to leave.

But before Rachel could object, a vicious wave came and swept him away. . .

She woke with a breathless gasp.

She jerked up and grasped any solid object she could find – her clothes, her sheets, her pillow – just to know she was awake. Was that all just a dream? Could that really have been just a cruel nightmare?

No. It was so _real._ She could see him with perfect clarity, every contour of his face, every speck of gold in his eyes. There was no way she could have imagined that… could she? She'd been having similar dreams every night since he'd left her, all with the same theme. He would come back, begging for forgiveness, for her to take him back, and she would say no, she was over him. And each time, she was lying.

She sat up slowly, startled by the stiffness in her joints, and wiped a shaky palm over her brow. She bit back a scream when she found moisture there, and threw the down comforter to the floor in the same instant. The storm, the rain. . . suddenly she couldn't find any air in her lungs. Clumsily she flicked on the lamp beside her bed, hoping to find that this was all just a sick joke. After a thorough inspection, she chuckled ironically and chided herself for being so paranoid. It was just sweat. She was now officially insane.

Why was he so hard to forget? Was there always one guy, for every girl, that never ceases to make her heart race and her palms sweat and her hands shake at the simple mention of his name? Why is that fair? Rachel frowned; it's not fair, it's not fair at all.

Finn had hurt her too many times to count. Actually, hurt hardly described his crime. How many times had he led her to believe he'd wanted her, that he'd changed, just to take all of it away in a flash? How many times had her heart been ripped out, each time creating another scar that would never, ever heal? It killed her that she couldn't even count, but what ached even more was that it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to make her not love him anymore. It wasn't enough to make her forget all the good memories, the ones of a sweet, loving Finn that took her for moonlit walks and attempted to cook her soup when she was sick. She smiled remembering the can of Progresso and pot he'd brought.

All she wanted was some peace. To be able to strut right up to him, nothing but pure confidence radiating for her smile, and to announce, with the utmost clarity, 'I'm over you.' And afterward, she wished to keep her grin intact, to turn briskly on her heel, and march off, breaking those silly ties and leaving every ounce of baggage behind. But, as always, she wanted the impossible. The second she heard that silk voice and spotted that endearing dimpled grin, the last thing on her mind would be walking away. It was so much easier said than done.

She couldn't think about him anymore; each scar was throbbing uncomfortably with every recollection. She turned toward her nightstand, groaning upon seeing _3:37_ flash green from her alarm clock, and nabbed the remote control. Maybe a little television could get her mind away from idiotic things. Perfect, an episode of _Friends _was on. No more thoughts about boys or love or heartbreak or closure; who needs it? She didn't, that's for sure. She smiled to herself, nestling up to her pillow and pulling her sheets back up over her body.

Her heart dropped when she recognized the particular episode. She couldn't help but laugh though, albeit mockingly. This was just her luck. Groaning, she threw her head back and buried her face in her pillow.

"…_So obviously, I am over you. I, am over, you. And that, my friend, is what they call, _closure_…"_

Rachel sighed. "Oh, if only it were that simple…"

* * *

**I really don't like this ending, but I figured if I left it right before she woke up, people would think I was crazy. Not to say that I'm not, but I'd like you guys to think I'm somewhat sane. Review? There might just be a cookie with your name on it :)**


End file.
